


Seducing His Woman

by ifinkufreaky



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Bondage, Cock & Ball Torture, F/F, F/M, Face Slapping, Multi, Orgasm Denial, Voyeurism, imperfectly negotiated polyamory, it's always better to communicate more than this, my fantasies are not great role models, sub!Ivar, why do i need to tag that on all my smuts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-27 01:27:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10798869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifinkufreaky/pseuds/ifinkufreaky
Summary: Sigurd's new wife is both gorgeous and insatiable. Ivar's wife wants her. The boys have their own reasons to agree to this.Set during no specific canon time period. Just an island of imaginary smut in an angsty timeline with a couple of hot OC's thrown in. Entire premise comes from a brilliant prompt given to me on Tumblr, other than sub!Ivar which I have been looking for an excuse to try my hand at.





	Seducing His Woman

**Author's Note:**

> Húsfreyja = Mistress. Continuing my lazy habit of using Google Translate Icelandic to stand in for Old Norse, hope that doesn't bother anyone.

 

“Sigurd’s new wife, Freja,” Thyra says, eyes closed, as she rocks her body over her husband’s cock.

“What about her?” Ivar growls, fingers kneading the soft flesh of her ass as she rides him.

Thyra looks down at him through thick lashes, eyes lidded with the pleasure of his body, expertly striking her favorite spot. “She is adorable. So fucking cute. I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Ivar purrs and straightens up in the bed, pushing forward to catch one of her pert little breasts in his mouth.

Thyra cradles his head to encourage him, keeping up the rhythm of their joining with small bucks against him. “Her face is so expressive. I want to see all the different faces I can get her to make.”

This makes Ivar hum and press his cheek against her chest. “I would like to see you take Sigurd’s wife from him. It would be such a pleasure to watch you defile her. I can taste his humiliation now.”

Thyra looks down at Ivar, a broad smile splitting her face. She buries her hand in his thick hair and pulls his head back until his neck is straining and she can get a good look at his face. She loves the way his eyes go slack and deep when she reminds him who’s in control with a little pain. “You’d like that, would you?” She jerks his head side to side a little, like she’s chastising him. “You’d like to see me claim another lover? Teach that little girl a few things she didn’t know about herself,” Thyra’s smile deepens, “like I did to you?”

“Yes…” Ivar sighs, closing his eyes as his hips stutter against her thighs.

Thyra squeezes harder against his roots. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, _Húsfreyja_ ,” he remembers too late.

She’s too lazy to punish his lapse with more than a sharp bite to the cheek, since anything worse she would do might break the accelerating rhythm he’s starting to pump up into her now. She keeps her grip on his hair as she pushes herself down to meet his thrusts, riding out her pleasure while he struggles not to come before her.

_That_ would be punished much more severely.

 

*****

 

“Mmmmmmmm, ohhhh, Sigurd!” Freja wails, tossing her curly black hair over her shoulders as pleasure seems about to overcome her. Sigurd appreciates the gesture, as it reveals the glory of her heavy tits bouncing above him. His new wife is nearly insatiable, and he can only do his best to keep up.

She looks down at him with pleading eyes and he knows instantly what she wants; they’ve been fucking so constantly that he knows little about her interests or hobbies but he knows plenty about the ways she likes to take his cock. He gathers her up and then flips them both over onto the other side of the bed, propping both her ankles over his shoulders so he can drive himself deep into her core. The free movement of his muscles helps spur him closer to his own release this way too; Freja is content to lie on her back and let him set the pace.

But Sigurd slows, licks his thumb and drops it down to draw circles over her clit until she is ready to explode all over him when he really gets going. _We are getting good at this,_ he thinks with pride as he hears the soft whimpers coming out of his wife’s mouth that mean she is right on the brink. Then he wraps both hands around her ankles and pounds himself into her until she can’t control her wails.

When they are both lying exhausted in each other’s arms, Sigurd touches his forehead to hers, then pulls back far enough to look her earnestly in the eye. “Tell me something about yourself that would surprise me,” he prompts. They have to get to know more than each other’s bodies some time.

Freja bites her full lip as she thinks, then the corner of her mouth twitches with mischief. “I would love to bring another woman into our bed.”

Sigurd’s eyebrows climb; then he smiles like he just found buried treasure. “Did you have someone in mind?”

Her elegant little eyebrows waggle. “Ivar’s wife. She captivates me.”

“Thyra?” Sigurd asks. Not because he doesn’t agree, her graceful limbs and cheeky smiles have turned his head more than once as well. Because of who she’s married to. “My brother is a jealous man.” But as Sigurd follows this thought to its conclusion, it starts an ugly grin spreading across his face. “How it would wound him, to know someone seduced his woman away from his bed. And if it were _my wife_ to do it?” his eyes flash at Freja with pride just imagining it. “He might never recover from the humiliation. Can you do this? And can we make sure that Ivar knows?”

Freja chuckles indulgently at her husband and then silences him with her greedy lips.

 

*****

 

The dinner was tense, but it was really the best anyone could expect, what with the contentious and antagonistic relationship between the brothers. Thyra had invited Freja personally to dine at the cabin she shared with Ivar, and looked surprised when Sigurd arrived along with her.

The Ragnarssons seem restrained now, as Thyra passes around horns of cool and sweet mead. The women sit next to each other by the hearth, flanked by their silent husbands. They coo and giggle as they compliment each other, and Ivar and Sigurd seem to hang on every word. Everyone can feel the wild spark in the air, one that both boys seem to be taking care not to extinguish.

The whole room holds its breath as Thyra reaches out and rests her fingers under Freja’s chin. “You just look good enough to eat, my dear,” she intones, one eyebrow arching in suggestion. Freja’s eyelids flutter, like relief, like she’s been waiting for this all night. She angles her neck in silent invitation and Thyra finally strikes, her hand sliding to grasp Freja’s jaw and bring her mouth up to her own.

The sound of Sigurd’s pleased exhale rings through the room as Freja traces her fingers up Thyra’s cheeks and deepens the kiss. He looks over to see Ivar’s reaction. The youngest Ragnarsson is gripping the arm of his chair with both hands so tightly his knuckles are white, his eyes blazing, riveted to the scene.

“I guess your wife hasn’t been completely satisfied with you, Ivar,” Sigurd taunts as they watch Thyra press into Freja’s body, head twisting as she swirls her tongue in the other woman’s mouth. “She seems… hungry.”

Ivar tears his eyes from the scene long enough to glare at his brother. “And what does it say about you, that your new wife has already cast her eye over to my woman?”

Sigurd just grins at him. “Whatever my woman wants, I make sure she gets. I think maybe we should leave now, brother, let them have some privacy to get more acquainted.” Freja has counseled him that the best way to get another woman involved is to keep the man out of it until she feels more comfortable.

“ _You_ can go,” Ivar snarls, returning his eyes to the women, studying the way their limbs are entwining. “If that’s what you like.” He reaches down to adjust himself, give his growing cock more room. Thyra is magnificent as she plunders Sigurd’s wife, already drawing soft moans out of the other woman’s throat.

Thyra pulls away just far enough to catch Freja’s eyes. “Would you like to come to the bed with me?”

Freja sighs and squirms deliciously, but her eyes flick over to Ivar’s predatory grin and she looks unsure.

“He doesn’t have to join,” Thyra reassures. “But…” she starts tracing her fingers over the side of Freja’s face, down to play with the neckline of her dress, “…would you like our husbands to watch?”

A smile breaks over Freja’s face and she nods vigorously. Thyra rewards her with another heavy kiss.

“Do you want to watch us, Sigurd?” Thyra asks, lifting her mouth from his wife’s lips just far enough to make sure he can hear her. “Or were you serious about leaving?” she mocks.

Sigurd squirms in his seat under the gaze of her lidded eyes. Thyra’s surprising dominance is incredibly arousing to him. He nods, but looks quickly at Ivar. “Only if he doesn’t do more than watch, either.”

Thyra turns her head back to her husband, leaning over the arm of his chair with a straining, hungry sort of look. “I’ll make sure he stays in his place.” She looks back at Freja, strokes her thumb across her cheek and then stands up.

The cabin is really just one large room, the sleeping area screened off only when they have company. Thyra pulls the divider aside and beckons Freja to the low bed with a curling finger.

Freja bounces up eagerly, but her husband catches her by the waist as she walks past him. Sigurd grunts and pulls her down onto his lap for a kiss. “By the gods, you are magnificent tonight,” he whispers in her ear. “You are doing so well. But please, do not feel that you have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Freja looks up from Sigurd’s lap at the tall woman with the body of a Valkyrie currently shedding her overdress. “I do not think that will be a problem,” she whispers back.

Ivar has taken this time to drop out of his chair and slither toward the bed; Thyra looks down at him with one brow arced in amusement.

Sigurd notices too. “Ivar, where do you think you are going?” he barks.

“I’m not watching from the other side of the hearth,” he says, settling down right next to the bedframe, resting his elbows on the mattress. “I want to see everything.” His eyes are lidded with lust and fixed on Freja. Sigurd pulls her closer in to his chest, fingers curling possessively.

Thyra drops to the bed on her belly so she can capture Ivar’s attention with a kiss. Just as he starts to relax into it, she pulls away. “I do not think Freja wants you this close, my love,” she whispers to him, starts to stand back up. “Sigurd, bring two chairs over here.”

The blonde kisses his wife soundly one last time before complying with the request. Freja is glowing with excitement when she comes back to Thyra’s side. They resume their exploration of each others’ bodies as Sigurd rearranges the furniture.

When the boys are settled into their seats, Thyra jerks her head toward Sigurd. “Does he do as he is told?” she asks the shorter woman.

Freja nods. “He is usually quite good at that.”

“Ivar isn’t,” Thyra says bluntly, crossing the room in quick steps to pull a coil of rope from where it was hanging. She turns back and draws herself up to her full height, eyes cool and dark. “Hands, Ivar.”

The usually-contrary Ragnarsson centers his body and silently lays his forearms along the arms of his chair. His chest heaves in anticipation. Whatever Thyra is about to do, he is looking forward to it.

Freja steps over to Sigurd again as Ivar’s wife returns to the group, spreading the rope between her hands. She gives a dark little smile and then crouches beside her husband, swiftly wrapping the cord around each arm, binding him neatly to his chair.

Sigurd lets out a loud guffaw. “You let your wife tie you up, Ivar?” he asks incredulously. “What kind of man are you?”

Ivar breaks the trance Thyra’s actions had been putting on him long enough to growl back at his brother. “Perhaps the kind of man that needs to be held down, lest I savage these women before you’ve found the courage to even leave your chair.” He bites Thyra’s shoulder for effect as she tugs in satisfaction at the final knot.

Thyra grabs him under the jaw swiftly, and the two exchange some heavy, unreadable look, both breathing heavily. She presses her mouth to Ivar’s and his whole body strains toward her. Then she pushes him by the face to rest against the back of his chair.

Ivar licks his lips as he watches his wife saunter back to the other woman. “Sorry to keep you waiting, dear heart. Ivar has terrible self-control. It is best to take… precautions with him.” Her gaze travels down to the couple’s clasped hands. “Sigurd is only to watch, too.” Her eyebrows jump. “ _Unless_ I say otherwise. Is this acceptable?”

She is addressing only Freja, running her fingers through the girl’s hair as she gazes up at her with a sort of overwhelmed admiration. “Yes, Thyra,” she whispers, like she cannot even summon a stronger voice.

“Then let’s undress you,” Thyra says. “Come here.”

Freja shivers as Thyra pulls her away from her husband, draws her to stand at the foot of the bed and starts pulling her overdress up. The boys watch with slack jaws as Freja’s underdress follows, Thyra’s hands twisting the fabric as she removes it in such a way that both teases and caresses the woman’s body and also adds suspense to the reveal of her bare skin to their audience. Freja’s hips are wide and soft, the large nipples on her full breasts standing out as Thyra brushes her hand across them, then dips to take one into her mouth. Thyra inhales sharply as she grabs a handful of Freja’s ass and pulls her body close, then she is pushing the other woman onto the bed.

Freja lays back coquettishly, fully conscious of the three pairs of eyes locked onto her naked form. The flush in her cheeks shows just how much she is enjoying this.

“Your wife has an incredible body, Sigurd,” Ivar remarks, without looking away. Freja shivers just a little at the sound of his voice. “I cannot wait to see what my Thyra will do to it.”

Sigurd is too busy watching Thyra remove the rest of her own clothing to respond. The tall woman has her back to him, eyes fixed on his gorgeous wife, but she’s standing within arm’s reach of him and is moving her ass like she’s intending for him to look, to _want_. There is a dark tattoo of branching, spiraling lines on her right hip, descending down her thigh, and he can’t wait to see how far those lines curl around the front of her body. Now Sigurd is the one loosening his trousers.

Thyra sinks to her knees on the bed, between Freja’s feet. Her thighs are pressed together, but Thyra grins and starts forcing them apart with her own body as she leans over the girl. She settles herself partially beside and partially on top of the other woman and kisses her hungrily.

The Ragnarssons watch their wives’ hands travel over each others’ bodies, imagining what each stroke and grasp and pinch must feel like. Ivar is captivated by the playful, teasing way his wife’s lips move over Freja’s, cannot suppress his own moan when he sees her pull the girl’s bottom lip out in a gentle nip between her teeth.

Thyra’s tattoo does travel over her lower belly, Sigurd can see this for just a moment when she lays back and lets Freja roll on top of her. One twisting line frames the dark hair of her sex like an invitation. Then his wife’s juicy ass obscures his view as Freja eagerly grinds herself against Ivar’s woman.

Sigurd’s hand comes to his groin, like he’s just checking what’s happening there. It doesn’t move away.

Thyra’s fingers creep around the swell of Freja’s ass, start to play at the edges of her opening. When Freja moans and tries to press against the stimulation, Thyra pushes her flat on her back again, starts sliding down the line of her body. “Let’s see what you have for me,” she murmurs, pressing the woman’s legs apart and settling herself in between them. Thyra is resting on her right side as she spreads Freja wide, making sure her body is not blocking Ivar’s view. Freja moans and writhes a little when she realizes how much her brother-in-law can see of her now.

Thyra leans over her new lover’s body, letting her mouth hover over her exposed clit and warm it with a gentle breath. She sweeps her hair over to her left so that it is easier for Sigurd to watch her slowly press her tongue to his wife’s sensitive bud. She tilts her head and swirls, gentle and slow.

“Are you paying attention, Sigurd?” Ivar taunts. “I’ll bet my wife is about to teach you a few things about pleasing a woman.”

“Shut up,” Sigurd mutters, annoyed at his little brother’s distraction. “Let me watch your wife service mine in peace.” He can feel Ivar’s mocking eyes burning on him, but he refuses to look. Instead, he pulls his dick out and gives it a few deliberate strokes, just because he can. Just because Ivar can’t.

Freja’s soft moans have been getting louder as Thyra works her clit expertly. When her legs start to shake, Thyra backs off, grinds the heel of her hand against her as a placeholder while she lifts up to look the other woman in the eye. “If I let you come now, will you still want to keep playing?”

“Absolutely,” the girl moans, pressing herself up into Thyra’s hand.

“She averages about three orgasms a night, for me,” Sigurd adds helpfully. When Thyra turns to give him an incredulous look he just smirks at her, continuing to stroke his own cock. Hoping she’ll look down at it.

Thyra smiles faintly, sparing his member only the briefest glance before she turns back to finish the job on his wife. Her lips descend more greedily this time as she buries her face between Freja’s thighs.

The girl starts moaning in high-pitched little gasps, tangling her fingers in her own dark hair. Her noises run together into one long keen and then she is arching her back and shuddering.

All four of them are left panting.

Thyra climbs up on the bed beside Freja, stroking her softly as she comes down from it. She seems surprised when Freja rolls over and locks her lips onto her own, in a kiss that is deep and grateful and hungry for more.

“Have you pleasured a woman before, Freja?” Thyra asks with her graceful smile.

Freja nods eagerly and Thyra guides her hand down between their bodies. “Would you like to do so now?” she whispers.

Freja’s fingers are light and teasing, running through Thyra’s curls and softly stroking her slit. Thyra exhales like she’s finally letting something go, and Freja’s mouth is ready to catch her sighs. Sigurd’s wife is less interested in creating a performance, focusing only on the lover before her and the great things she can do with tiny movements.

Sigurd had almost come when Freja did, shamelessly pumping his cock in his fist as he watched his wife writhe under Thyra’s tongue. Now he has gotten his own pace under control, taking himself to the brink as his eyes pore over the scene on the bed and then pausing, over and over. He doesn’t want to let go until the show was over.

“This is not very fair,” Ivar protests from his chair, fingers splaying uselessly in the air as he wriggles at his bonds. “I am the only one not getting any satisfaction.”

Sigurd just smirks and strokes himself more obviously.

“Come over here and help me, wife.” Ivar’s tone is caught somewhere between whine and command. He gives a dark smile. “Or Freja. She can help, too.”

Thyra kisses Freja sweetly on the cheek, touching her wrist to still the movements of her hand. “Excuse me, dear heart,” she says politely, then launches herself up off the bed. She turns to Ivar and lifts her foot, smashing it down on the seat of the chair directly between his legs. “Do you care to rephrase that?”

Ivar flinches, then shivers, unable to hide the little smile spreading over his face. He ducks his head. “Please, _Húsfreyja,_ ” he says humbly. “I am in agony. I beg you to touch me.”

Sigurd chortles at this fresh sign of submission.

Thyra uncrosses her arms, exposing the full glory of her pert breasts to his inspection as she makes a show of considering his request. She fixes Ivar with a deliberate stare and inches her toes up and over the bulge in his trousers. Ivar’s eyes roll back in his head as she presses the ball of her foot down slowly over the delicate structures she finds there.

“Is this what you wanted?” she asked, threat heavy in her voice.

Ivar’s eyes focus on the ragged white scar in Thyra’s collarbone, a gift from her days in the shield wall. His wife’s magnificence brings a tear to his eye. That, and the lovely mixture of fear, pain, and humiliation she is brewing for him as she increases the pressure of her foot. He twists his neck, closes his eyes, but there is no escape. “Anything, _Húsfreyja,_ ” he whispers.

“Freja?” Thyra asks, her foot relenting only slightly as she turns her head back to the bed. “Would you like to play with him? He can be fun to torture.”

Freja looks at her husband. Sigurd is snarling at the very idea. “She is not touching him.”

Thyra looks back down at her husband and shrugs. “Then I am going back to bed.” She puts her foot back on the ground, reaches out her hand to give his length one firm, loving stroke that makes Ivar moan. The she slaps his cheek, hard, with her other hand. “Do _not_ interrupt me again.”

Thyra descends back upon Freja with warm hands and even warmer lips. After a few moments of settling back into each other with soft kisses and rocking hips, Freja presses her hand between Thyra’s thighs again. This time Thyra returns the favor, though her fingers are less focused, warming Freja without truly trying to accomplish much. Soon Thyra is moaning and twisting, abandoning Freja’s clit in favor of stroking and scrambling desperate little fingers all over her body.

“I need more,” Thyra whispers, and rolls Freja onto her back. Thyra rises up with gleaming eyes and starts walking her knees up over Freja’s body. She’s going to sit on her face. Sigurd groans when he realizes it but Thyra ignores him, settles down over Freja’s willing mouth with her back to both of the boys. She no longer cares about making a show of it either, just wants to press into this woman until she comes.

Freja’s eagerness continues to beguile her, and the women soon find a rhythm promising to push Thyra off the edge. Freja’s hands slide up the warrior’s body and settle on her nipples, tugging and pinching so exquisitely that Thyra starts groaning out her release before she even expected it.

Freja hangs on through every shudder, but her head starts moving oddly under Thyra’s hips. When her climax feels complete, the tall woman casts a sleepy look over her shoulder to see that Sigurd has gotten out of his chair and started fucking his wife as she lay spread out on the bed behind her. Thyra gives him a bemused smile and dismounts, ready to let him reclaim his woman. She strokes Freja’s face, then presses her lips to hers in a parting kiss. Freja’s tongue meets hers but Thyra can feel how distracted she is by the pounding of her husband’s cock. She smiles as she withdraws, pointing Freja’s head back towards Sigurd and turning to her own husband.

Ivar’s face is red, and he is sure to have ropeburns on his twisting wrists tomorrow. Thyra sees how hard he is working to suppress his lust and rage both, to be left out once again but forbidden to complain. “You are doing such a good job controlling yourself, my love,” she intones as she bends over him, loosening the ties on his breeches. “Such patience is to be rewarded.”

Ivar’s lips and teeth are working over every inch of flesh he can reach, devouring Thyra’s chest and shoulders in eager bites as she finally frees his straining manhood from his trousers. She braces herself on his strong shoulders as she threads one leg, then the other, under the arms of the chair so that she can get ready to ride him.

Her husband moans as she lines herself up, the sound mingling with the grunts and gasps coming from the bed. “Please,” Ivar whispers, eyelashes fluttering. She likes to fight him, but watching him submit without being reminded to do so fills her with a special sort of liquid warmth. Thyra strokes his cheek and then sinks happily onto his cock. She rocks against her husband with joyful little groans, feeling how hot and tight she is after having come so very recently.

Ivar’s eyes flick over her shoulder, then quickly come back to her face.

Thyra grins and turns her head. Freja has flipped Sigurd over and is now riding him for all she’s worth, her glorious tits bouncing in a way Thyra’s never will. She appreciates the sight a moment longer, grinding herself harder against Ivar, then turns back to her husband.

“It’s alright, you can watch her,” she murmurs in Ivar’s ear, then closes her eyes and focuses on wringing another orgasm out of herself on top of Ivar’s cock. He blows before she can reach it but he does what he can to assist, nipping at her neck and continuing to rock his hips under her as Thyra finishes herself off with a finger on her clit. She opens her eyes to see Ivar’s locked solely on her now, overcome with appreciation. Thyra seals the moment with one more kiss, then rests her cheek on her husband’s shoulder, curling her body so she can watch the spectacle that’s continuing on the bed.

Sigurd seems to be having a hard time coming, not that it’s bothering Freja or either of their spectators. They’ve changed positions again, the curvaceous woman now on her hands and knees with her husband rocking into her from behind. Sweat is gleaming on both of them, and the cries he’s drawing from his wife’s lips are utterly captivating.

Freja’s tone climbs until it’s obvious she’s orgasming again. Then Sigurd is pulling her up, settling back on his own knees and drawing her to lean back until her full weight is impaling her on him, and his hands are free to roam over her breasts. Finally he seems close, pumping up into her as he squeezes and twists her tits almost cruelly. He pushes her face down into the bed. Sigurd all but roars as he presses a few more decisive thrusts into her, then his body seizes up and his strange moan lets everyone know the event is finally over.

Sigurd collapses, struggling to catch his breath. Freja needs a moment too, before she finally rolls to her side and looks to Thyra again. Ivar’s wife is busy loosening his restraints, finally letting the youngest Ragnarsson have his freedom. When she is done, she snags a blanket and spreads it over Freja on the bed, snuggling up next to her underneath it.

“That was intense,” Freja whispers.

“But did you enjoy it?” Thyra retorts, smoothing a lock of hair from her face.

“Oh yes,” Freja says quickly, cuddling up to her new lover. “You are… magnificent. Fabulous.”

“And I find you completely enchanting as well,” Thyra smiles, kissing her on the nose. “Let’s just rest, now,” she suggests, pulling their bodies closer to the center of the bed.

“What about our husbands?” Freja asks sleepily, not even lifting her head to see what they are doing.

“I don’t really care,” Thyra responds, eyes already closed. But no one complains when two more bodies clamber up on either side of them and curl up in the big bed.


End file.
